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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032003">they left us running burned and blind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine'>janie_tangerine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a runaway American dream [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst and Porn, Bottom Jaime Lannister, Coming Untouched, Explicit Sexual Content, HELLO IT'S THIS SERIES AGAIN I GUESS, Jaime Lannister Has Issues, M/M, Past Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Sandor Clegane Needs a Hug, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Sandor Clegane, Tumblr Prompt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, both of them kind of do tbh, is this my not so guilty pleasure crackship? probably</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:28:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You know,” Jaime says tiredly, pocketing the money, “we could try to —”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I might be paying for a fuck, but I’m not a goddamned sadist and you know it.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Oh, he does.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He damn well does. People wouldn’t think of it, and yet —</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Jaime shakes his head. “Sure,” he says, smiling a bit wider, and he knows he means some of it. “Then follow me,” he winks. “The escort service is glad to provide tonight’s entertainment.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Sandor rolls his eyes, leaves his leather jacket on the sofa and follows him upstairs.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Jaime feels for a moment like that money is burning his pocket, and wishes they could afford to have casual sex without his bills depending on payment, but that’s not going to happen and he knows that, and it’s already a miracle that they’re actually friendly and that he actually — well.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It wouldn’t exactly be fair to say he doesn’t hate sex with the man.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He actually does like it, most of the time.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Too bad that he can’t quite get over the fact that they’re not having it for free.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sandor Clegane/Jaime Lannister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a runaway American dream [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1464508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>COWT - Clash Of the Writing Titans/Chronicles Of Words and Trials</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>they left us running burned and blind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>SOOOO this wasn't planned but an anon on tumblr asked if I'd consider an explicit scene with those two in this verse and tbh I kinda had been wanted to do it since the first fic, and it was too long to go into the previous ficlets collection, soooo... here you go, have 2ksomething of pseudo angsty porn where these two assholes try to make each others's lives less miserable. idek. I TRIED. SEE YOU SOON with whatever I manage to finish ;)</p>
<p>Meanwhile: title always from springsteen or this wouldn't fit with the general theme, I own nothing, I'll saunter back downwards. ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The phone rings at eleven thirty in the evening and Jaime considers not answering it — he’s <em>tired</em>, he feels dirty after the fourth time he’s seen Selyse Baratheon this week and he just wants to go get a shower and collapse into bed, but —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it’s January and December is a shit month and he has bills to pay, so he picks the phone up. Fucking hell, he hopes it is —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it too late?” The rasp coming from the other side of the phone almost makes him moan in relief, but he doesn’t — he has a dignity.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please,” Jaime snorts, “Lannister escort service, in lack of an intercom you can always knock —”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I didn’t know you were an <em>escort</em> now,” Sandor snorts.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, why shouldn’t I call myself in a <em>refined</em> way? And is this a social call or do you want to come over?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment there’s no answer, then —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Could</em> I come over? Don’t say yes out of desperation,” he immediately adds, “if it’s too late I <em>can</em> come tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaime <em>could</em> tell him to. Sandor’s about the only single client he has that he knows he could turn down without regretting it, never mind the only single one who understands that maybe he <em>would</em> want to put a limit to how many people he fucks per night.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And yet.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shudders, feeling dirty all over again.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tomorrow he has no appointments and he had planned on just… getting some rest, which means that he could maybe squeeze him in now. He doesn’t think anyone will call, for that matter — it’s a weekday, and none of his female clients come without letting a few days pass in between turns.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not too late,” he says, “you can come in half an hour.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’d be <em>midnight</em>,” Sandor says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’m a professional. Wouldn’t want you to smell three other people on me now, wouldn’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As if I’d give a fuck, but all right. Half an hour.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He closes the call and Jaime goes upstairs. He takes the shower, washes his hair carefully and by the time he’s out he doesn’t smell like Selyse anymore, good thing that. He considers just putting on old clothing, it’s not like Sandor gives a fuck about <em>that</em>, but still, he’d like to be presentable for the one single client he doesn’t hate having, and so he puts on freshly washed jeans and a decent white shirt, turns on the heating and waits. It doesn’t take long — five minutes later, there’s the usual knock on the door.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He half-smiles to himself and goes to open the door. “Lannister escort service at your disposal,” he says, moving to the side so that Sandor can walk in. Jaime doesn’t miss that he also didn’t wear his worst clothes and that he actually <em>did</em> put some cologne on, but he doesn’t point it out. He has a feeling it would just make things awkward, and telling the man that he appreciates how he doesn’t show up looking like he just fell out of the bed when the guy in question is… <em>Sandor Clegane</em>, well. It would just bring unnecessary awkwardness, considering that he takes compliments even <em>worse</em> than Jaime himself does. Which is… probably saying all <em>and</em> a lot to unpack, but he’s not even attempting to go there. He’s <em>not</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re hilarious,” Sandor rasps, and then stares at him straight. Jaime stares back, half-shrugging — one day Sandor is going to grasp that Jaime can’t honestly give a single fuck about the state of the left side of his face, and maybe he <em>did</em> grasp it when he refused to get extra to touch him <em>there</em>, but still.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So?” He asks. “Any philosophical question to ponder or…?”<br/></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor shakes his head, then takes two hundred out and dumps them into Jaime’s palm. “You look like utter shit,” Sandor rasps again, “and I haven’t — well. Since the last time.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“… It was in October,” Jaime blurts, realizing that maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor half-smirks. “Yeah, well. Why do you think <em>you</em> are the only asshole who doesn’t tell me to fuck off when it comes to sex in this entire town? Anyway, that’s for — however long we manage.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s too much —” Jaime starts. It’s what he charges Sandor for <em>an entire night</em>, usually, which means that they start at nine in the evening and end at two in the morning, and there is no way he can hold on that long until <em>then. </em>Not tonight —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lannister, fuck’s sake, I know how business is this time of the year. You can give me a discount next time if you’re that hung up on it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know,” Jaime says tiredly, pocketing the money, “we <em>could</em> try to —”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I might be paying for a fuck, but I’m not a goddamned sadist and you know it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh, he does.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>He damn well does</em>. People wouldn’t think of it, and yet —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaime shakes his head. “Sure,” he says, smiling a bit wider, and he knows he means <em>some</em> of it. “Then follow me,” he winks. “The escort service is glad to provide tonight’s entertainment.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor rolls his eyes, leaves his leather jacket on the sofa and follows him upstairs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaime feels for a moment like that money is burning his pocket, and wishes they could afford to have casual sex without his bills depending on payment, but that’s not going to happen and he knows that, and it’s already a miracle that they’re actually <em>friendly</em> and that he actually — well.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wouldn’t exactly be fair to say he doesn’t hate sex with the man.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He actually <em>does</em> like it, most of the time.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Too bad that he can’t quite get over the fact that they’re not having it for free.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">— —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thing is: they’ve been fucking for long enough that Sandor <em>can</em> read the signs. He can see that Jaime goes up the stairs tiredly and that his preening before had less bite in it than usual, and that he hasn’t slept in a while, and he feels like shit for having showed up at all, but he also can read when he’s not wanted, and for some reason he still doesn’t fathom… Jaime <em>does</em> look like he wants him here, for now, and so he follows him upstairs and into the guest room, where Jaime takes off his shirt the moment they’re inside, kicking off his jeans, too. He’s not wearing underwear, but he hadn’t expected that, not when he showed up with such short notice.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He also notices that he has a few bruises on his back that weren’t there in October.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could ask. But he can see the sharp nails behind them and he doesn’t think Jaime would answer him regardless.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He kicks off his own shoes.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is —”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“First drawer,” Jaime half-smiles, and Sandor nods before he also finishes taking off his clothes and opens it. There’s lube and condoms, and while in theory <em>he</em> certainly doesn’t have sex with other people, they’re certainly not <em>that</em> type of fuckbuddies, and so he grabs both lube and one of the condoms, then slams the drawer closed and turns his attention back on Jaime. He’s lying down on the bed, making himself comfortable, that lightly tanned skin and gold hair so vivid against the white sheets, and he’s smirking up at him as if he <em>wants</em> Sandor to join him, and —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head, puts the condom on, places the lube next to Jaime’s hip and climbs on the bed, looking down at him, his hair brushing against Jaime’s face. Jaime shudders, and smirks up at him again.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>might</em> have missed your glares,” Jaime says, and Sandor <em>has</em> to laugh, and for a moment he wishes kissing wasn’t off limits. And yet, it is, and so he breathes in.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Honored to hear it,” he rasps. “Now how about you let me handle this in peace?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How romantic,” Jaime gasps, and then he rubs his cock against Sandor’s thigh, spreading his legs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, <em>shit</em>, Sandor thinks, breathing in and out, and then pours some lube on his fingertips because like <em>hell</em> he’s going to make this rough or <em>dry</em>, worst of all. Jaime breathes in sharply when Sandor touches the rim of his ass, and he’s tight, so Sandor supposes that at least he’s tonight’s first <em>man</em> and he’s not going to have and do anything else because he <em>has</em> given up on touching Jaime <em>there</em> a few times, when after other guys he’d have felt like downright shit to ask Jaime to take <em>him</em>, too. Now, though, he’s moaning softly and spreading his legs wider, whispering something about having <em>some</em> fun at least, and so Sandor pushes those fingers in <em>tighter</em>, and then Jaime moans out loud, his hand reaching for Sand0r’s face, touching lightly over his cheekbone, his thumb brushing over a part where Sandor <em>knows</em> you can almost see bones —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He breathes in. These are the moments he wishes he could kiss the guy if only to show some appreciation for the gesture, but he thinks he knows why it’s off limits and <em>he</em> certainly won’t go and begrudge him for only wanting to kiss people who aren’t clients, most likely, and so he just breathes out and relishes in it, in how <em>good</em> it feels that someone is touching him <em>there</em>, and not like it’s a hindrance — admittedly, he thought Jaime faked it very well <em>before</em>, but after he stopped taking money for it, he had to admit to himself he most likely just doesn’t mind.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He breathes in once, twice, basking in the feeling of fingertips right <em>there</em>, and then he breathes in again and grabs for Jaime’s wrists and pins him down to the bed.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The way Jaime moans at <em>that</em>, he knows he’s not faking it. He’d have to be a downright idiot not to.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Leave them there,” he groans, letting them go.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaime doesn’t, in fact, move them. Hell, he doesn’t even give him some smart-ass retort, which Sandor <em>had</em> factored in — they’ve been fucking for this long, he has figured <em>that</em> out now, and so he lets an approving sound leave his mouth before he grabs the Vaseline, opens it and coats his fingers in it; when he moves a couple of them right over the rim of Jaime’s ass Jaime moans out loud, and when Sandor pushes them both in slowly he moans <em>louder</em> and no, he’s definitely not faking it whatsoever. He coats his fingers in grease again, then pushes them in again, and <em>again</em>, and he doesn’t miss how even if Jaime’s about writhing around them he’s <em>not</em> moving his wrists from the mattress, and he wishes it wasn’t getting to him as it actually is, except that <em>it is</em> and when he reaches down with his free hand to touch himself he’s rock hard, and <em>fuck</em> he usually likes to drag it on a bit longer, but it’s been a long time and Jaime’s muttering <em>harder</em> when he pushes his fingers in <em>deeper</em>, time and time again until he’s stretched open and it won’t hurt when he slides him, and —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe there can be another round where they drag it longer later.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now he needs —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He <em>needs</em>, and so he moves his hand back, not minding Jaime’s groan of displeasure as he does, and then he grabs one of Jaime’s wrists, puts it above the other and pushes them both down — he his hand is large enough to do it, and Jaime looks up at him with half-blown pupils and with parted lips and he’s moaning <em>yes go ahead do it do it do it</em> and so he nods and he moves further up and pushes <em>inside</em> and at <em>that</em> Jaime moans louder before moving his legs behind Sandor’s back.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Fuck</em>,” he groans when Sandor buries himself to the hilt, going as slow as he can, “<em>fuck</em>, yes, you can move —”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>know</em>,” Sandor replies, moving another hand to the back Jaime’s head, grasping his hair, pulling a bit, and Jaime moans again. “I’m moving. When <em>I</em> decide,” he goes on, not missing that Jaime’s cheeks flush scarlet at that, and then starts fucking him, <em>slow</em>, steady, taking his time. Jaime keeps on moaning, louder and louder and <em>louder</em>, and Sandor keeps on sliding back and forth, and Jaime’s arching up into his hands over and over and his face is all flushed and he’s saying <em>yes</em> all over and gods but Sandor might have fucking issues but so what if he likes it when people he fucks <em>enjoy</em> it and he knows they’re not faking it?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on,” he says, “no need to show off.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Fuck</em>,” Jaime says, “<em>fuck</em>, I —”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Don’t</em> drag it out,” Sandor groans, “<em>go ahead</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he <em>does</em> — he slides in and out another couple of times and then buries himself inside Jaime with a last push and Jaime clenches around him, moaning loud enough that someone could probably hear them from the floor below, and then he’s coming all over his stomach and Sandor can’t hold it in anymore either — he follows suit, letting one of Jaime’s wrists go, and Jaime immediately reaches up and grabs at the scarred side of his face while he’s coming still and <em>shit</em>, it shouldn’t feel this good and he shouldn’t like it <em>this</em> much, but he does, and then he just stops thinking altogether as a wave of pleasure takes him again, and <em>again</em>, and fuck but it feels <em>good</em>, so good, and if only they weren’t who they were —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Never mind <em>that</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">— —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets himself fall on Jaime’s side after he pulls out, throwing out the condom and breathing in again, and Jaime makes a sound in the back of his throat before he turns on his side. He looks wrecked, flushed cheeks and hair sticking to his face, and he’s not <em>asking</em>, but —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sandor holds out an arm, not asking either, and Jaime presses up against him a moment later, breathing in once, twice, and then —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know,” he says, “I can be good to go again. I mean, in a bit.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Guess I could as well,” Sandor replies. “But not <em>now</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you <em>did</em> pay for the entire night. There’s time.” He’s half-smiling now, a sliver of white teeth showing before his hand lands on Sandor’s side.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He breathes out in relief, then groans in approval. “Fine,” he says, “then we can wait if you’re not kicking me out.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck no,” Jaime says. “And for that matter, let me tell you, it’s a damned pity you have to come <em>here</em> for this. Anyone who refuses you on account of <em>that</em>,” he gestures towards his face, “has zero taste.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What,” Sandor snorts, “I am that good now?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You wouldn’t know,” Jaime sighs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Sandor admits a moment later, “at least <em>someone</em> appreciates my skills.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaime shakes his head. “People who’ll make a guy have fun in bed are scarce in this economy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He says it so flippantly it almost hurts to hear it. “I know it’s wasted breath,” he groans, figuring that at this point he <em>can</em> say it, “but that’s bare decency and you ain’t cut for this job <em>at all</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How flattering,” Jaime winks at him, “now do you think you could show me some of those skills again or do you need more time?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A minute,” Sandor says, and not because he <em>couldn’t</em> get started again but because if he’s the <em>fourth</em> fuck of the evening maybe he wants to take it slow.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sometimes he wishes they were… less fucked up than this. Sometimes he wishes the both of them could be a first choice for the other and maybe they’d go somewhere.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Except that he knows it’s not going to happen.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t even dare hope that one day they’ll find better and they’ll be able to have a drink about it and tell each other that hey, they <em>could</em> do better than this.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That would be deluding himself way, <em>way</em> too much. But if any of them might it won’t be <em>him</em>, so he’ll wait another minute, take his time making sure both of them enjoy the rest of the evening, and stop thinking about it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Until next time, at least.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">End.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
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